In the Dawn of the Vocaloid Poets

Most of horror and much adventure
Feature poverty’s allegories—
Think of how often protagonists

Find themselves forced to make do without
Ordinary appurtenances—
The aliens have jammed the cell towers,

The psychopath has cut the phone lines,
We are all alone in one small boat
With one day’s rations left between us—

It’s poverty, it’s desperation
Fictional horrors and adventures
Game out—mountaineers in a blizzard,

Trapped in their tents are ordinary
Folks on welfare trapped in bleak cities,
Dead-end positions, under the bridge.

You might not note this while you’re watching
From the edge of your seat and thrilling
To that brave final girl’s great escape—

You might be doing well, might be rich,
Never hard up for food or a bed—
But deep down your body’s practicing.

There could come a time monsters trap you,
Robots rule your options, hungry ghosts
Haunt your throat, and fat rats clean your plate.